The seasonal lulls between mainstream crops are the perfect time for some less
well-known, but equally delicious fruit

Almost everything has been harvested for the year. The grapes are fermenting in the winery, most of the quince are picked, and the apple orchard is bare.

The intensity of early autumn harvesting – when each crop has a short window in which to be picked – has gone. I deserve this hot chocolate with whisky at the end of the garden before I get on with other things.

I spend much of November outside, doing the opposite to October’s picking. It’s bareroot season, when many plants are dormant and happy to be planted. I do it as early as I can while there’s a hint of warmth left in the soil. Even the short time before winter allows them to get their roots settled in. It can also be too wet or the ground too hard to plant in the heart of the cold.

Today I’m filling gaps, not just in the garden but in the seasons. Chilean guava, blue honeysuckle and Japanese wineberries are three of my favourite fruit – I have half a dozen of each, but I’m adding more. Apart from being delicious, they all fruit when I most need them to, in the seasonal gaps between more important crops. Blue honeysuckle give the first fruit of the year, in May, wineberries are most prolific in the lull between the peaks of the summer and autumn raspberries, and Chilean guava can ripen as late as mid November, long after other berries and currants.

Queen Victoria had a taste for Chilean guava: the fruit was grown for her in Cornwall’s mild climate and sent to her table. Despite that, they’ve never been common in the UK, though are popular in Australia and New Zealand, where they are known as tazziberries.

Chilean guava is an evergreen shrub similar to common myrtle, and grows to a metre high and wide. Its small leaves are deep green and waxy, with the odd dapple of red-pink. Pale pink and white bell-shaped flowers dot the branches from late spring, turning into pink blueberry-like fruit that ripen into dark berries late in autumn and into winter. I’ve been eating handfuls today, which is more than enough incentive to plant more. They are delicious straight off the plant – tasting a little of strawberry crossed with kiwi.

For those who remember it, they’re very close to Strawberry Space Dust. That should see sales rocket. Any I don’t eat fresh find their way into cakes and pancakes, or more likely murtado, the Chilean version of sloe gin: add gin, fruit, sugar in a ratio 3:2:1, to a jar and invert the jar once in a while. Then sit on your hands – it takes a year to reach its best.

Chilean guava are hardy to around -10C, so they often shrink back to the ground in protest at serious cold, but with a clump of straw spread over the heart of the plant through winter they’ve come back each spring. Their natural home is at the edge of woodlands or clearings where the mix of light and shelter suits them well. Bear that in mind if you intend to grow them: the more shelter and sun they get, the more fruit they’ll produce.

The variegated ‘Flambeau’ has cream and lime colours to the leaves, and is slightly more hardy than the common variety.

Blue honeysuckle

(ALAMY)

For early-season fruit, blue honeysuckle, aka honeyberry, is a must. It grows as a low shrub rather than the common garden climber that shares its name. As with the late-season Chilean guava, the berries resemble blueberries, though are more elongated, with a flavour like blackcurrants with a little honey stirred through.

The fluted yellow flowers come early in spring, giving the bees a playground when there’s little else for them to forage on. The bees (or you, with a small brush) are vital as blue honeysuckle needs a partner of a different variety to pollinate it. With luck, the flowers turn to small, oblong fruit almost before you’ve had a chance to enjoy them, ripening rapidly to be ready by the end of May.

Most blue honeysuckle varieties have been developed in cold climates, so the plant and its flowers can handle a decent chill. Their hardiness and ability to thrive in most soils makes them a fine alternative to blueberries, which can be a little temperamental in the cold and need acidic conditions to do well.

I have to say I prefer Chilean guava and blue honeysuckle to blueberries; both have a rounded, deeper flavour, and fruit when there’s little else around.

There’s a lull in August between the height of the summer and the autumn raspberry harvests and Japanese wineberries fill it perfectly. They grow a little like blackberries, throwing up 2m canes one year that develop short side shoots the next, on which the berries form. These long arching, softly bristled, red-purple canes are beautiful whatever the time of year but catch the eye most in winter when the leaves have dropped.

I look forward to the berries as much as any fruit I grow – they have a deeper, winier flavour than raspberries and strawberries, and a perfect sweet-sharp balance. I plant more every year.

Wineberries ripen over a long steady period, which means gluts are rare and most are eaten as snacks when walking the dog or feeding the chickens. Once in a while I hold back and get some into the house. When I do, I almost always use them to make cranachan (see recipe) as that deep winey flavour works perfectly with the oats, whisky and honey.

They have a sharp trick to sidestep the birds – the papery calyx that wraps each berry peels back a day or two before they’re ready to eat, then the berries traffic-light quickly through from green to yellow to orange and into deep red, giving the birds less time to notice them.

They take well to training as a fan but I prefer to leave them to scramble as they like. Unsupported, they form a thicket perhaps a metre high. I also have them growing through a wire fence in combination with akebia as an edible hedge, clambering through each other beautifully.

Wineberry Cranachan recipe

Serves four

50g rolled or porridge oats

2-3 tbsp whisky

3 tbsp caster sugar

300ml double cream

2 tbsp runny honey

350g Japanese wineberries

Gently toast the oats in a dry frying pan over a medium heat until they are golden. Keep an eye on them as they can burn easily. Allow the oats to cool on a plate.

Stir the whisky, sugar and cream together in a bowl and whisk until the cream forms soft peaks. Gently fold in the oats, honey and wineberries, aiming for a ripple effect rather than a complete blend. Don’t worry if the berries bruise and leak a little of their juice: this adds to the beauty of the cranachan.

Spoon into glasses and serve immediately.

At his smallholding, Otter Farm in Devon, Mark Diacono grows pecans, quince, almonds and Szechuan pepper. He has written five books, including A Taste of the Unexpected which won Food Book of the Year 2011 from the Guild of Food Writers.